Go Go Crazy

My small son has become addicted to go-go pets. Be afraid, parents and associates of the knee-high:

  1. Their accessories and outfits cost more than an adult human’s;
  2. When they accompany the child into your bed at night  and somebody rolls on them, they start chirping and squeaking and tangle their wheels in your hair… not always the hair on your head, either;
  3. Having snarled their axles with human hair ripped screaming from reluctant victims, they don’t go-go anymore. You are then required – no, compelled – to put on hold whatever it is you would prefer to do, take the stop-stop apart with microsurgical instruments, unclog, re-lube and screw it  back together again. Hopefully, returned to go-go status. Only then will the high pitched whining from the affected child cease.

I will say this for them. They’re crush resistant and as yet the dog hasn’t tried to eat one. So when their plan for world domination reaches the unstoppable juggernaut phase, I’m suggesting flamethrowers. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.


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